Dream Lover
by MagicSwede1965
Summary: When Roarke brings an author's character to life, she finds herself in a bizarre situation. Follows 'To Boldly Go Back'.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** _This one may seem a bit of a throwaway, but it serves a dual purpose. I had a review that asked about Leslie and Christian—perfect timing since I had meant to put a subplot involving them in this story anyway! Thanks to jtbwriter for the extra push, and as always, thanks to Harry2 and Terry L. Gardner for their faithful and ever-welcome reviews. I promise that eventually, Leslie and Christian's story will be resolved one way or another in the not-too-distant future!

* * *

_§ § § -- September 12, 1997

"Are you certain you're ready for your weekend off, Leslie?" Roarke asked on the front porch on the morning of the second Saturday in September. "You seem reluctant to leave."

Leslie glanced at him, looking vaguely rattled, he thought. "Why are you asking me? You're the one who insisted I go," she said.

"I think you should, yes," Roarke said. "But there's something you aren't telling me, isn't there?"

"I'm only going to Japan, Father," Leslie said with some exasperation. "And I don't see the fuss. Katsumi recommended the trip to me, and I thought it sounded like the perfect destination. If I'm nervous, it's just because I expect to encounter culture shock."

Roarke's gaze lingered on her, and he knew she could read the doubt in his eyes; but she refused to say any more. "All right," he gave in with resignation. "You're off the hook for the moment, Leslie Susan, but that's only because we must meet the plane." He led the way down the porch steps as the car pulled up.

Leslie relaxed as Roarke set about the business of the morning, and after their first guests had been introduced, she watched a fortyish woman with dark hair, wearing a full-skirted dress in tropical reds, greens, yellows and turquoises, step out of the plane and start down the dock. "Hey, I think I know her," she exclaimed suddenly. "That looks like Melanie Downs, the famous author!"

"It is indeed," Roarke said. "Presumably you've read some of her material?"

"A couple of the books, yes," Leslie said. "Maureen's a particularly big fan; as a matter of fact, she's the one who told me about the movie deal."

"That movie deal is the reason Ms. Downs is here," said Roarke. "Hollywood has asked her to help choose a suitable actor to play the role of her extremely popular hero, Julian Noble. However, she has not the slightest inkling as to who might be best suited for the part."

"Why not?" Leslie asked. "It sounds easy enough to me. Just pick the guy who comes closest to whatever the character looks like."

"Therein lies the problem," Roarke told her. "Ms. Downs has no idea whatsoever what the character looks like."

Leslie gave him an incredulous stare. "That makes no sense at all," she protested in disbelief. "She _created_ the character! How can she not have even the most basic mental image of what he should look like?"

"A very good question, my child," Roarke said wryly. "In any case, in the face of this fact, she has come to us asking to bring Julian Noble to life for one weekend, in order to help make her choice easier."

"Wow," said Leslie, eyes widening. "It almost makes me sorry I'm leaving this afternoon. You're going to have to tell me all about it!"

Roarke grinned and accepted the glass the native girl brought him, raising it and calling, "My dear guests! I am Mr. Roarke, your host. Welcome to Fantasy Island!" Melanie Downs mirrored his grin, hoisted her own glass into the air and then took a hearty swig from it, clearly confident of the success of the weekend ahead.

‡ ‡ ‡

She was still holding the almost-empty glass when she stepped down from the foyer into the study not quite an hour later. Roarke looked up and gestured at a chair, his usual welcoming smile strangely absent. "Please have a seat, Ms. Downs. Leslie, since you are standing over there, you might bring me that small silver box beside the teapot there."

Leslie, running down a checklist for her trip, immediately put down the pen and paper and brought the box to her father while Melanie Downs made herself comfortable in one of the leather chairs. "Here, Father, do you need anything else?"

"Yes, I'll require your assistance," he told her and turned his attention to Melanie. "Please, Ms. Downs, forgive my lack of understanding…but I am afraid I simply can't believe that you don't know what your own character looks like!"

Melanie promptly turned red and swirled the dregs of her drink in the glass to avoid his gaze. "You're not the only one, Mr. Roarke," she murmured uncomfortably.

"After all," Roarke went on, slowly taking his seat, "you are the creator of this man, and as far as I know, no author tells a story without providing at least a basic description of the characters. You seem to have achieved the dubious honor of being the first. How can it be that you've never described what Julian Noble looks like, or what sort of personality he has? These are characteristics that are entirely under your control; surely you must have even one or two attributes to assign the man!"

Melanie shrugged helplessly. "Honestly, Mr. Roarke, I really never thought about it. You see, Julian Noble is primarily an action hero, although his exploits are geared to appeal to female readers. He takes on top-secret missions and carries them out undercover, and in the process he carves a wide swath through the ranks of sophisticated single women he meets in his work. There's an emphasis on the romantic aspects of his work and his liaisons with the women he meets—almost an action/romance genre, I guess you'd call it. There's never been any real need to talk about what he looks like."

"It's true, Father," Leslie said. "I've read two or three of the books, and Julian Noble is a very vague, unknowable sort of guy—always moving in the shadows. If I have the tone of his affairs right, often even his women don't really know what he looks like. It's as if he always operates in the dead of night to avoid being seen. My impression was that his looks and personality traits are left to the reader's imagination."

Roarke frowned. "An interesting tactic, Ms. Downs, and one that apparently works very well, considering your great success. However, it presents a problem to me. In order to bring Julian Noble to life, I must have some basis from which to begin. Not knowing what he looks like, or what sort of man he is, is a great hindrance to my ability to fulfill your fantasy." He leaned back in his chair and swiveled in it a few degrees, his gaze moving in the general direction of the open French shutters but not focusing on anything concrete. "I am not at all certain I can accommodate your request."

Melanie leaned anxiously forward in her chair. "But Mr. Roarke, if I knew what Julian looked like, I wouldn't have had to come here in the first place!"

Roarke didn't move, but Leslie laughed a little. "That makes a nice catch-22 situation, don't you think?" Her gaze turned sympathetic. "Why don't we try something here? If you absolutely had to come up with a bare-bones description of the man, what would you say?"

Melanie stared at her in surprise. "If I _had_ to?"

"You kind of do right now, in fact," Leslie pointed out. "Like Father said, there has to be some foundation for him to work with. But don't think really hard about it—just throw a couple of things right off the top of your head. Just take a deep breath, close your eyes and say the first thing that comes to mind."

Melanie shrugged. "I'm willing to try anything. Here, would you hold this?" She handed Leslie her now-empty glass and resettled herself in the chair, then sucked in a loud breath and shut her eyes while Roarke and Leslie watched her. "Well, Julian would have black hair, so black that it shines blue in the light, and he'd be lean and about average height, and he'd have graceful hands with long fingers…" Her voice trailed off, and a moment later she opened her eyes. "I almost had a real image of him there, Mr. Roarke."

Roarke smiled for the first time. "Since you now have a starting point, I may be able to enhance that image." He displayed to Melanie the little silver box that Leslie had given him, then lifted the lid to reveal a pink capsule about the size of a prescription pill. "If you would swallow this, it will help me to derive a clear image from your imagination."

"What, you're gonna read my mind?" Melanie asked.

"Not exactly," Roarke said. "With your permission, I will merely lay a hand atop your head and extract the image enhanced by this pill."

Oh." Melanie grinned. "Sounds like a mind-meld right out of _Star Trek_. Okay, if I could maybe have some water, I'll take it."

Leslie took Melanie's glass over to the table and poured some water into it from a crystal decanter, then brought it back to Melanie, who made short work of swallowing the capsule. As soon as it had gone down, Melanie hiccupped loudly, slapped a hand against her chest and grinned sheepishly at her hosts. "Excuse me, Mr. Roarke." Then her eyes popped wide for just a moment before she fell back in her chair as if suddenly asleep.

Leslie gave a start of alarm. "Father, what'd you do to her?"

"There's no harm done, Leslie," Roarke assured her. "Quickly, close all the shutters." She set about swiftly carrying out his request while he arose, went to stand behind Melanie's chair and gently set one hand palm down on the top of her head.

Leslie came to stand by the desk and waited, watching intently, while Roarke closed his eyes and the room fell dark. Roarke and Melanie were centered in a pool of white light which shortly became shot with brilliant colors and the occasional odd image. The colors and images swirled as if in the midst of a tornado, slowly rising all the while, then floating away from the two still figures to drift lazily to the floor. Once the blob of color got there, it whipped around and around in slowly rising circles, revealing a human figure from the feet up as it climbed into the air. In about fifteen seconds, the form of a man was visible. The colors vanished, Roarke opened his eyes, and the room returned to normal lighting.

"Ms. Downs, look in front of you," Roarke requested.

Melanie came back to consciousness with a violent start, then stared at the man who stood in front of them with a greatly confused look on his lean, spare features. He was a very attractive-looking rogue, dark from head to toe: he had the black hair that Melanie had described earlier, brown eyes, and skin of a natural tanned color. In fact, his clothing and shoes were black as well.

The man shook his head hard a few times as if to clear it, then took bewildered stock of his surroundings and the three persons who stood watching him. Their gazes got to be too much for him and he demanded, "What the hell is going on here?" He spoke with a trace of British accent in his primarily American speech.

Roarke smiled faintly. "I apologize for the inconvenience, sir; but there is someone here who wishes to meet you. Melanie Downs, may I introduce Julian Noble."

Julian Noble scowled at him. "How do you know me? Who are you, anyway? And am I supposed to know who Melanie Downs is?"

Melanie stood up and eyed him with great interest. "So that's what you're supposed to look like, huh? I guess I have a better imagination than I thought. I'm your creator, Julian. My name's Melanie, and I'm the one who sent you on all your wild adventures and romantic escapades." She extended a hand.

Julian ignored it, staring at her. "What're you, the head of Intelligence? Are you the one I can blame for that time I broke my leg parachuting out of an exploding helicopter?"

Roarke and Leslie looked at each other in astonished amusement, while Melanie gave a mildly embarrassed shrug. "I actually thought that was a pretty cool adventure. It sure brought in one heck of a boatload of fan mail."

Julian threw his hands in the air. "I'm starting to feel like I fell down the rabbit hole. Would anyone in here be capable of giving me a coherent explanation?"

"Forgive me," Roarke said apologetically. "But you see, you are the popular and very widely-known hero of a best-selling series of books written by Ms. Downs here. Hollywood has expressed an interest in making a movie of one of the books, and we needed to know what you looked like so that Ms. Downs can choose a suitable actor to portray you."

Julian's annoyance faded into amazement. "Unbelievable. And who are you that you know all this?"

"My name is Roarke, and you are standing in my combination home and office on Fantasy Island—my island. The young lady beside the desk is my daughter and assistant, Leslie Hamilton." Roarke folded his arms over his chest and regarded Julian with an easy calm tinged with lingering amusement. "Who, by the way, is not available."

Julian, who had been eyeing Leslie, turned back to Roarke and shrugged his shoulders carelessly. "Protective father, huh? I've run into my share of those, too. Any women here who _are_ available, then?"

"Me, for one," Melanie said immediately. "I only just got here myself, and if you'd like, we could look around the island together."

Julian regarded her with something other than irritation for the first time and seemed to like what he saw. "I see. Well, then, since you offer, by all means, lead on."

Melanie beamed and turned to Roarke. "Thank you, Mr. Roarke, thanks a million. You really pulled it off. I can't tell you how much I appreciate this!"

"You're quite welcome, Ms. Downs. Do enjoy yourselves, won't you?" Roarke invited graciously, smiling. Both Julian and Melanie nodded at him and departed the study; on their way out, Julian slung a casual arm across Melanie's shoulders.

Leslie grinned when they were gone. "You know something, Father, Julian Noble strikes me as a rake. I have a feeling he's going to cut as wide a swath across Fantasy Island as he does in Melanie Downs' books…and I'm sort of sorry I'm going to miss it."

Roarke laughed. "I'll be certain to keep you informed of the events in your absence. I suggest that right now you hurry and finish packing—you are scheduled to leave on the one-o'clock plane, and I'm sure you'll want time for lunch."


	2. Chapter 2

§ § § -- September 12, 1997: Fantasy Island

"Okay, Melanie Downs, so tell me all about this movie I'm supposed to be the star of," Julian suggested. They'd gone to the stables and rented horses, and were now on a leisurely ride down one of the many well-marked trails through exotic tropical woodland.

"Well, you yourself aren't exactly the star…that is, you'll be portrayed by an actor," she said. "And see, this is the problem. I don't know which one would suit you. Ever since I started writing about you, you've been an enigma to everybody—even me."

"Yeah?" Julian glanced over at her with a faintly condescending amusement. "Does that mean you want me to tell you what I'm like, or what?"

Melanie lifted her chin and said, "That seems only fair. Don't forget, if it weren't for me, you wouldn't even exist."

He snorted. "I still don't understand that, but all right, whatever you say. I guess you might say that what you see is what you get. Six-foot-one, black hair, brown eyes, hundred and fifty pounds…give or take…agent for World Intelligence, based out of a secret bunker in a secret location, country unknown to the public at large. And—apparently according to you—ladies' man, good-time guy, and general all-around rake."

"I know all that," said Melanie. "But who is Julian Noble inside, down deep? I mean, do you keep in touch with your parents? Any brothers and sisters? Keep an apartment someplace with a dog or a cat? Ever want to get married and have kids? What sort of things do you enjoy? Hobbies? What kind of music do you like? Ever watch movies, read books, play sports? What characteristics do you like and hate in people?"

"Holy hell on wheels," Julian said, gaping at her. "If I'd known you were gonna get personal, I'd've taken off for less inquisitive pastures hours ago."

"Dammit, Julian, just bear with me," Melanie said in exasperation. "I told you, I'm your creator. I won't necessarily expose all that for the world to see. It's for me personally, so I can write about you more accurately."

"Yeah," Julian muttered, drawing the word out with great skepticism. "Well, I can tell you one thing—I hate nosy people. Put that in your little black book."

"You're a cad," Melanie said, rolling her eyes. "That's something I learned about you all by myself, just now. I think it'll be easier to choose someone to play you now: all I have to do is pick the rudest, most egotistical actor in the bunch." She spurred her horse onward in agitation. Julian, however, wouldn't be left behind and urged his own horse ahead, easily catching up with Melanie.

"Wait, Melanie, I apologize," Julian called out, making her pull her horse to a halt and stare at him in disbelief. Julian stopped his mount and actually smiled at her, which proved to be her undoing. She smiled back, unable to resist the immense appeal of his very handsome face. Julian nodded. "Looks much better. Okay, okay…let's see. My parents are still alive, yes, but I haven't contacted them in years. I'm not allowed to stay in touch with any of my family—which includes two brothers and a sister. And me, get married and have kids? Even if I were inclined toward that sort of thing—which I'm not—no marriage would ever withstand the kind of work I do. Kids to me are one of those little evils that you can't seem to avoid. No dogs, no cats, not even a goldfish. I live in hotels around the world because I'm always working. That give you some idea?"

"So you're about as free a free bird as any that ever existed," Melanie said. "That fits the image in the books so far. But I think you should learn to relax and enjoy yourself. I'll have to figure out what kind of books you'd read and what sort of movies you'd watch."

"I already know that," Julian said flatly, "and I don't need you telling me. No time to either read or go to a movie."

"I'll see to it that you get time," Melanie decided. "Starting right now. How about some lunch? I'm hungry, aren't you?"

"Yeah, now that you mention it," Julian agreed. "I wonder what kind of food they have on this island."

Melanie grinned and informed him, "Fantasy Island is the most popular resort on earth. There's a waiting list months long to have a fantasy granted, and you have to book your vacation at least a couple of years in advance. This is a five-star resort, no matter what travel guidebook you're consulting. Nothing but the best around here."

"Lead on, then," Julian said, gesturing, and she cheerfully sent her horse on down the path, looking forward to spending more time with him.

§ § § -- September 12, 1997: Tokyo, Japan

The long flight chased the sun, so Leslie didn't lose too much of her Saturday in transit. For that she was glad; her time was limited for several reasons, and she wanted to make the most of it. She stared in amazement at the enormous city below her as the plane approached the airport, and bit her lip, consulting some carefully-compiled notes in her carry-on bag. She was to meet the limousine outside the nearest exit to the baggage carousel where she would retrieve her suitcase, and from there she need only relax till she reached the hotel and checked in.

It was most of another hour before she had settled into the limo, and for the first time she found herself shaking from anticipatory nerves. Trying to distract herself, she watched the city slide past the windows as the big car glided down one street after another. It struck her by surprise to realize that Japanese drivers drove on the left, as in England. The streets here were often quite narrow and pedestrians choked the sidewalks.

It was another half hour before they reached the hotel, and the driver carried Leslie's suitcase into the lobby for her before taking his leave. She checked in and was given a key for a room on the eighth floor. Thanking the delighted clerk with a _"domo arigato"_ and a bow, Leslie lifted the suitcase and her carry-on and headed to the elevator, once more feeling those abdominal tremors.

When the car came to a stop at the proper floor, a dainty little chime sounded, making her grin, and the doors opened. She emerged to find a figure relentlessly pacing the floor. As soon as she stepped out, the figure stopped, whipped around and ran right for her, catching her in a bear hug. "Whoa!" she exclaimed involuntarily, laughing.

"My Leslie Rose, you're here at last!" cried Prince Christian Carl Tobias Enstad of Lilla Jordsö, whirling her around once before setting her back onto the floor and studying her face. She gazed right back at him; he was much as she remembered him, with the same glossy chestnut-colored hair, hazel eyes that just now gleamed with joy, and infectious grin. "Do you know how crazy I've been all day today, waiting for you to get here?"

"How long have you been wearing out the carpet in here, anyway?" Leslie teased him, beaming. "I've been practically sick with nervous anticipation ever since I took off from Fantasy Island, you know." She sobered then and bit her lip again, eyeing him through her bangs. "Father doesn't know I came here primarily to see you."

Christian gave her a look of mock reproach. "Shame on you, Leslie Hamilton—keeping secrets from your own father!" He grinned, unable to tamp down his jubilance at being with her once more. "I'm sure that what he doesn't know won't hurt him."

"Oh, you don't know my father," Leslie remarked, smiling ruefully. "He knew something was up, and I'll probably get the third degree after I get back home. But look…I'm here now, so why don't we get out of this lobby so I can change into more comfortable clothes and we can sit down and really talk."

"Talk?" Christian echoed blankly, picking up her suitcase as he spoke. "You were planning to talk? I was going to do something else with those lips." His over-the-shoulder glance was comically suggestive, and Leslie burst out laughing.

"Rogue," she said. "Come on, let's go."

In her hotel room, he dropped her suitcase, took her overnight bag away from her and tossed it onto the bed, then pulled her close and kissed her the way they'd both been longing for. Leslie discovered instantly that he still had that same effect on her, making her forget everything on earth. As he kissed her, his hands roamed in urgent caresses. Not till he had released her did her conscience suddenly jab her, and she lowered her head in consternation. Christian slipped two fingers under her chin and lifted it right back up. "What's wrong, my Leslie Rose?"

She hesitated. What she wouldn't give to let herself go around this man…but there were just too many obstacles in the way. "Where's Marina?" she asked at last.

"Out shopping," he said. "She does plan to be here so that we can all have dinner together." He didn't need to ask her why she wanted to know; they both knew her reasons, and the thought sobered them. But there was torment in his hazel eyes. "Let me assure you, my darling, Marina wouldn't care."

"Father would," said Leslie. "And I came to live with him early enough in my life that his ethical sense rubbed off on me. However platonic yours and Marina's marriage is, the fact remains that you're married, no matter what. Even though it's a political match, even though there's no love between the two of you—it doesn't matter. You're married, and that puts you off limits, period." She closed her eyes and shook her head a little. "It kills me to say that. I can read your face, and believe me, I want the same thing. But it just wouldn't feel right."

Christian searched her face for a very long moment before drawing in a slow, deep breath. "Yes, I can see that, and deep inside, I agree with you. I can't understand how you've stayed under control like this—I know you've not been with a man since your husband's death seven years ago. I've been celibate since I met you; but that's been only a little more than a year, and I sometimes have dreams that would mortify you to hear about. I don't know how you do it."

Leslie shrugged. "Depends on the circumstances, I think. I wasn't interested in another man till you came along, so it wasn't hard for me." She smiled wistfully up at him. "But it is now…yet that ethical sense that Father instilled in me is a strong deterrent."

"So it seems," sighed Christian, releasing her with great reluctance. "In that case, I think we'd better find another subject to focus on."

"Agreed." Leslie settled onto the bed and removed her shoes, wiggling her toes. "How long were you and Marina in England, anyway?"

"Five days," Christian said and sighed again, this time in weary fashion, sinking into a chair and raking his hand through his hair. "The funeral was exhausting, and I believe it's the saddest event I've ever attended in my royal capacity. Everyone truly loved Princess Diana. It was quite the shock to hear of her death."

Leslie nodded. "Hard to believe it's already been two weeks. My friends and Father and I were watching the funeral on TV. I think the whole island was. What an incredibly sad thing to happen! Was your whole family there?"

"Yes, we all went as a group," Christian said. "My niece, Anna-Kristina, had met Diana on a few occasions, and she cried throughout the ceremony and the procession. More than anyone else, I felt sorriest for Diana's two sons. The princes will find it difficult without their mother, I fear." At that moment the telephone rang, and Leslie blinked in amazement before grabbing it.

"Hello?" she said curiously.

"Leslie, you're here! Hello!" said Marina's soft voice with cheerful warmth. "I just thought I would call to tell you I've returned from my shopping trip, and if you would join Christian and me for dinner, I would be very happy."

"We'll be up shortly," Leslie said. "Thank you, Marina." She hung up and relayed this to Christian, who nodded.

"If I can't make love to you, I may as well eat," he said with mock resignation.

Leslie gave him a wicked little grin. "Well, no wonder you're so fat." He jumped out of the chair as if to attack, and she exploded with laughter. "Just let me change and we can go on up. Don't worry, you're still gorgeous."

"Nice of you to say so," Christian snorted, but grinned. "All right, then, hurry."


	3. Chapter 3

§ § § -- September 12, 1997: Fantasy Island

Lunch had been sumptuous and Julian had been impressed with it. Afterwards, he and Melanie had gone to the pool, where the man had attracted just about every woman in sight—not only single ones, but married ones as well, which made for some very angry husbands. Many of them, flocking around him, observed with wonder that he reminded them of "Julian Noble, that sexy hero in those fabulous books." Melanie, watching him, had been unwillingly flattered at the compliment to her writing, but simultaneously almost as annoyed as the men. In some ways she had to admit that she was to blame; this was, after all, one of the attributes she herself had assigned to the character. So why, then, did his easy, careless way with women get so far under her skin?

Finally she had had enough and wormed her way through the throngs of females surrounding Julian till she caught his attention. "Okay, Julian, enough of this. Let's go."

"Excuse me?" Julian said, staring at her. "Look, if you want to go, then go. I'm going to stay. Too many pretty women around here—I don't have much time, and I intend to meet every last one of them that's here."

"Well, you can't. That would be impossible," Melanie informed him. "At least take a break, anyway. I thought you and I could hit the casino and see if we have some luck."

Julian waggled his eyebrows. "I always have luck," he said, sweeping a quick look around his gang of admirers, and they all laughed. "Go ahead, Melanie."

She scowled, frustrated. "What about dinner?"

"Don't wait for me," he said, shrugging.

"Julian, look." Melanie grabbed his arm and glared at him. "You're with me, understand? We're together. You're supposed to be helping me. Don't forget, that's why you were brought here in the first place."

"So when are the auditions?" Julian asked with strained patience.

"Tomorrow," Melanie said.

He nodded decisively once. "Fine, then we don't really have to meet till tomorrow," he said. "You'll be okay on your own till then."

Desperate, she tightened her grip on his arm. "Julian, please," she insisted. "At least spend some time with me this evening, will you? I still need to know some things about you. Besides, I offered to be your hostess, and it's pretty rude of you to run out and do your own thing without even thinking of me."

Julian's eyes narrowed. "Don't cling, Melanie," he warned her.

"I'm not—" she began.

"Look," Julian broke in, cutting her off. "I can already see the signs—you're getting too attached to me. You were on me like a barnacle at lunch, sitting right beside me the whole time. Now you keep insisting that I spend my time with you. Don't get possessive. You, of all people, ought to know that I'm the last guy any woman can keep for more than one night. I'll meet you tomorrow for the auditions, but that's it. Until then, there's no real reason for us to hang out. Now go to the casino or something, but lay off me." And before Melanie could quite recover from her disbelief, he hung his arms across the shoulders of the nearest two women and moved away from her without another glance.

Finally Melanie stalked out of the pool area, seething and muttering to herself. "So he thinks he can just hang out with any female he wants, huh? He keeps conveniently forgetting that I created him—he has to do what I say he does! Just wait till he falls in love and he finds out the woman doesn't care a whit about him! Wait'll it happens to him! And wait till my next book! I'm going to write in a hot and heavy romance and make him fall crazy in love, and then the girl's going to just up and walk out on him without looking back and he'll be absolutely as miserable as I can make him! And he'll never be free again as long as he lives! He's going to think of nothing but her for all his days…oh, just you wait…"

"Are you all right, Ms. Downs?" someone asked, and Melanie stopped short on the path, startled to see Roarke standing in front of her as if having just materialized from the air. His expression was a mixture of concern and not-quite-hidden amusement.

Melanie grew hot with embarrassment. "Okay, so you caught me talking to myself. I was just blowing off some steam."

"What about, if I may ask?" Roarke inquired.

She heaved a huge sigh and hung her head, watching her feet as they strolled along. "It's Julian, Mr. Roarke. All he wants to do is let women fawn all over him."

"Indeed," said Roarke with interest. "But is that not one of the character's most famous traits—his attractiveness to women?"

Melanie nodded. "True," she said grudgingly. "Right now, though, it's about the most annoying thing on the planet. I was just thinking—my next book, I'm going to make him finally fall really in love for the first time in his life, just to get revenge. And more than that, whoever he falls in love with will simply walk away, and the experience will haunt him for the rest of his life…or the end of the Julian Noble books, whichever comes first."

Roarke raised an eyebrow; he might have laughed, but she sounded serious. "So," he said, "you are seeking revenge on him because he doesn't return your interest in him."

That stopped Melanie again. "What?" she demanded.

"Ms. Downs, though you may not see it, I believe you are falling in love with your own fictional character," Roarke said. "What you are saying betrays jealousy." She gawked at him, rendered speechless, and he nodded. "Think about it…do you see the pattern?"

Melanie's gaze slid out of focus and to one side as she considered what had been happening that day, and slowly her features grew suffused with realization. "Oh no," she breathed at last and met Roarke's sympathetic gaze. "Now that you mention it, I can see it. In fact, I think I might have been half in love with him long before I ever asked you to bring him to life." The admission clearly cost her a good bit of her pride; she was turning very red in the face, and Roarke put a hand on her shoulder.

"You are falling for a fantasy," he said gently. "I'm sure you understand that it's not at all healthy for you."

"What I _don't_ understand is why he doesn't feel the same thing for me," Melanie protested. "I mean, I created him! I'm the one who decides what characteristics he has! How can this be happening?"

Roarke said, "As a fictional character, on the page, Julian Noble is indeed under your complete control, and can do or be anything you wish. But he has been brought to life for these two days: and while he is an actual flesh-and-blood being, he is a soul unto himself. He is now capable of making his own decisions and acting upon them, independently of you; therefore, you can no longer ascribe your chosen qualities to him and must deal with him as he is, and as he chooses to be."

Melanie digested this in silence. When she met Roarke's gaze again, her eyes had taken on a glassy sheen. "What'm I gonna do now, Mr. Roarke?"

"I suggest that you concentrate on the task at hand—choosing an actor from the ranks of those who would like to portray Julian Noble in the film," Roarke said.

"Will you come with me, then?" Melanie asked hopefully, facing him with a pleading look. "I could sure use your input—it's always good to have someone there who isn't as deeply involved. You're impartial, and I'm sure you'd have some good suggestions."

Roarke smiled. "Well, perhaps I can be of some assistance. Very well, Ms. Downs, if you will come to the main house tomorrow morning half an hour before the auditions are to begin, I will accompany you and try to provide advice."

"Thank you so much, Mr. Roarke—you don't know what that means to me. I think you'll be a big help." Melanie smiled a little self-consciously. "Actually, you already have been. I really appreciate everything you're doing this weekend."

"Not at all," said Roarke dismissively. "Don't worry about Julian—I'm sure that you'll see him again eventually. In any case, he will cease to exist after tomorrow evening, except as a figment of your imagination."

Melanie grinned ruefully. "That's probably a good thing. Okay, see you tomorrow, Mr. Roarke…and again, thanks so much." She headed away down the path, and Roarke lingered a moment, watching her go. Fleetingly he considered having Julian Noble brought to the main house, but decided against it. When all was said and done, Roarke himself could take charge of the situation if necessary, and he doubted it would be. After all, Julian Noble wasn't Jack the Ripper—and he'd dealt with that personage once! Chuckling to himself, he continued down the path.

§ § § -- September 12, 1997: Tokyo, Japan

The suite in which Christian and Marina were staying was essentially an apartment, located on the top floor of the hotel. When Christian and Leslie came in, Marina stood up from her chair and came to meet them at the door. "Hello, Christian…and welcome, Leslie. It's good to see you again—you're looking well."

"Thank you," said Leslie and smiled. "How's your trip been going?"

"It's very tiring," Marina said, "and I grow weary much too quickly. But Japan is a lovely place, and I find it impossible to resist. Come and sit, both of you, and let's decide what we'll have for dinner."

They consulted a menu on the low coffee table and chose several appealing items; then Marina called in the order. "While we wait," she said, "tell me, Leslie, how is life on Fantasy Island lately?"

Leslie grinned. "Never boring, I can say that," she remarked, and they all laughed. "I don't think there's a more interesting job in the world than the one I have."

"Is it breaching privacy to ask about some of the fantasies?" Marina asked, bright-eyed with intrigue. "I'd love to hear about them."

"I can speak in generalities," Leslie said. She went on to regale Christian and Marina with stories of fantasies Roarke had granted in the last few months; in the midst of one of her tales, their dinner arrived and they moved their conversation to the table. In the lull following Christian's and Marina's laughter at an anecdote, she swallowed a bite and asked casually, "How's your father, Marina?"

Marina's cheer vanished and her eyes lost their twinkle. Christian's features seemed to seal over, and he began to eat with particular vigor. Marina glanced fleetingly at him, opened her mouth as if to speak, then hesitated. Leslie looked up from her plate and went still, a little surprised by their reactions to her offhanded question.

Marina put her fork down after another moment and drew in a slow breath. "Leslie, may I speak frankly?" she asked.

"Of course," Leslie said, mystified.

"I am very worried about my father, to tell you the truth," Marina said slowly. Her voice seemed more whispery than usual, Leslie thought. "You see, my father and my sister both have the same terminal disease I do. Papa has had it for so many years, I'm not sure when he first contracted it. In fact, it's something of a miracle he still lives. Perhaps it's the amakarna…I don't know. It may be the only thing keeping him going."

"That, and seeing to it that Marina and I stay married," muttered Christian.

Marina smiled just a little. "That too, I suppose. In any case, even amakarna and his will to live won't be enough, and the disease will eventually kill him, just as it will my sister and me. Of course, as you've just heard, there's no love lost between Papa and Christian."

Leslie's own smile was wry and rueful. "So I noticed." Christian looked up at that and added a tight smile to theirs, but remained silent.

"I think you should know," Marina went on, "that if Papa passes on before I do, I'll see to it that things change. I will have this marriage annulled, and Christian will be free to return to Fantasy Island and wed you, Leslie. Once Papa is gone, everything will be under my control, and the ties that currently bind Christian and me will no longer have reason to exist. I'll continue to provide King Arnulf and his family with amakarna, without strings attached to the transactions. In that way, not only will you and Christian be together, so will my own love and I, for however long I have to live."

Both Christian and Leslie stared at her; Leslie, moved by Marina's quiet declaration, reached out and gripped her hand. "I can't tell you how grateful I am."

"I too, Marina," Christian said with a warm smile at her. "I must admit, you've proven to be a very good friend to me throughout all this—not to mention uncommonly shrewd. You know exactly how to handle my cold-hearted brother and your father."

"You flatter me, Christian," Marina remarked through a chuckle. "But I appreciate it. Now for the frank part."


	4. Chapter 4

§ § § -- September 13, 1997: Fantasy Island

The auditions were being held in the Fantasy Island Theater in Amberville; Melanie, with Roarke in attendance, sat in the front row along with the film's producer, director, and casting crew. The casting director stood just in front of the stage, armed with a clipboard that held a thick sheaf of papers, checking his watch frequently.

"Is that clown here yet or not?" he shouted backstage at one point, and there was a muffled yell of response that he apparently took as affirmation. "Okay, then, let's get this show on the road. First up, Clay Agresti."

A handsome young man strolled onstage and accepted the film script, and the casting director gave him a set of lines to read. Melanie listened intently, wondering if she had ever seen Clay Agresti before. He didn't look familiar. Roarke seemed to sense her confusion and said quietly, "Mr. Agresti has been in several successful television series and is now looking to make the jump into movies. He has won two Emmy awards, so there is great potential in him. What do you think, Ms. Downs?"

Melanie absently patted her compressed lips with a fingertip. "Seems like a nice guy, I guess, but he's a little too light-skinned to play Julian. A little young, too." She grinned. "But I think he should still have a part in the movie. He'd be a perfect Brooks Buffett."

"Brooks Buffett?" Roarke echoed blankly.

"Sorry. He's one of the younger agents in the intelligence outfit that employs Julian," Melanie explained. Roarke nodded comprehension and sat back.

"Ms. Downs, what's your impression?" the casting director asked.

"He doesn't quite fit the image of Julian, but he'd be exactly right for Brooks Buffett," Melanie told him. "If I were you, I'd put it in writing."

The casting director glanced at Agresti over his shoulder. "We'll definitely put him at the head of the list for Buffett," he said. "Okay, that's it. Jack Crawley!"

Somewhat more than two hours later, Melanie was valiantly stifling yawns. Roarke had stepped out for about half an hour to attend to the other fantasy, then returned with a pitcher of lemonade and glasses for himself and Melanie. However, that was long gone, and the day's tropical heat was beginning to build inside the theater. "Why didn't they turn on the air conditioning?" Melanie wondered idly, fanning herself with her copy of the script.

"The casting director requested that it not be used, apparently for fear of the noise the system makes," Roarke said. "The auditions are nearly over, so it shouldn't be much longer."

"Okay, thanks, pal," the casting director said and checked off another name on his list. "Next up is Kieran O'Keefe…God help us all."

Surprised, Melanie shot him a curious look and then turned the same expression on Roarke, who chuckled. "Kieran O'Keefe is a very talented Irish actor with quite a reputation for rakishness," he said. "He is a charmer, I'm told, but can be difficult to work with."

"Uh-oh," Melanie murmured. "What's he been in?"

"He is most famous for his role as Colin in John Angus Walsh's first magnum opus, _Highlander Fair_," Roarke said. "Are you familiar with the film?"

Melanie nodded eagerly. "I _loved_ that movie! I must have seen it twenty times. Toni Karlsen was the star and she was wonderful. I didn't realize the hero was this guy. Do you think he—"

At that point Kieran O'Keefe strolled onstage and Melanie fell silent and gaped at him, unaware of Roarke's gentle amusement. O'Keefe stopped and thumbed through his script, giving the designated page a once-over. "You know what to read, so have at it," the casting director said. He too had sat down by now and was looking very weary.

"Save us from hell, man, ha' ye ne'er heard o'air conditionin'?" demanded O'Keefe, staring at him. "Ye could roast a br-rrace o'rabbits in here. I'll be thinkin' ye're a sadist, no doubt in my head. Well enough, then…" His voice died out as he spotted Melanie. "Ah, now, an' who've we got here?"

"I'm Melanie Downs," Melanie told him. "I wrote all the Julian Noble books, and I get final say on who wins the starring role."

O'Keefe nodded slowly, turning this over in his head for a moment. "Julian Noble, a man after me own heart," he remarked. "All right, here goes." He cleared his throat loudly and at length, till Melanie winced and put a hand to her own throat in sympathy, before launching into his reading. Melanie tilted forward farther and farther in her seat as he read, her face a vivid picture of astonishment. Somehow O'Keefe had perfectly captured Julian Noble's mostly American accent, without putting much apparent effort into it, and was clearly having a whale of a time being the character despite the fact that the scene he was reading was one in which he confronted the film's nemesis.

Finally Roarke, grinning outright, reached out and put a hand on Melanie's shoulder, making her sit abruptly back in her seat before she wound up tumbling out of it. In the silence that fell after O'Keefe had read his final line, she blurted, "He's incredible! I had no idea he did accents—it was dead-on! And he's dark enough to be Julian Noble, too. Black hair and five-o'clock shadow, the works!"

"Excuse me, but I don't have the same color eyes as Noble," O'Keefe broke in from the stage, looking apologetic. "Shoulda asked me mum for another color, eh?"

Melanie burst out laughing. "So your eyes are dark blue instead of brown—so what? I don't care—you're closer to being Julian Noble in the flesh than anyone else who's been here today. I say you're it." She turned expectantly to the casting director.

"What she says goes, people," the man said and grinned. "I think that makes it official. Kieran O'Keefe will be Julian Noble…let's start the press machine rolling."

O'Keefe pumped a fist into the air in triumph and vaulted off the stage, landing directly in front of Melanie. "Me lovely lady, ye've made me day," he said, lifting her hand and kissing it. "I'll be thinkin' this shall be me favorite film since _Highlander Fair_ ta work on…and wi' such a beauteous woman as yerself supervisin', it'll be a true pleasure."

"You are a definite rogue," Melanie said, but she was flattered and didn't bother to hide it. "You know, I kinda like you, O'Keefe."

He beamed. "I like you too, an' it's more than 'kinda'. Matter o'fact, if ye'll be callin' me Kieran, I'd be honored. An' I'd also be honored to escort you ta a late lunch, an' then ta dinner, an' anywhere else ye'd be wishin', for that matter."

"I accept, and call me Melanie," she said immediately.

"Wi' pleasure!" O'Keefe agreed. "Mr. Roarke, ye've no idea just how fortunate I am. Never thought that when I came to this island, I'd be findin' a lady ta take off runnin' wi' me cynical old heart. I don't know how ye do it, but 'tis grateful I am that ye do." He shook hands with a broadly smiling Roarke. "Now, Melanie me lass, 'tis off ta lunch."

§ § § -- September 12, 1997: Tokyo, Japan

Christian and Leslie looked at each other, then at Marina. "Then go ahead," Christian said when Leslie remained silent.

Matter-of-factly Marina said, "I realize the situation you are in, and I know exactly how it is. I am in the same one. So if you two wish to share a bed, it means nothing at all to me. I would do so with the man I love, had I the option."

Leslie blushed so fiercely that Christian grinned at the sight, but he was no less amazed at Marina's words than she. "It makes a mockery of our marriage," he said, solely for argument's sake.

"Our marriage is a mockery in and of itself," Marina said. "I don't know what the law would say—adultery, I expect—but for myself, I simply don't care. Christian, it's Leslie who should be your wife, not I. If you want to be together tonight, then do so."

Christian slanted a glance at a still-crimson-faced Leslie, his hopes rising despite himself. It was plain in his expression. "You continue to amaze me, Marina," he said.

Marina shrugged. "Leslie?"

Leslie looked away and hung her head, too mortified now to meet Marina's gaze. She knew Europeans were much more frank and open about such matters than Americans, but that didn't lessen her discomfort. "That's…quite an offer," she said carefully, "but…" She cleared her throat loudly and finally managed to look up again. "As tempting as it is, I can't do it. You see, I was still in my early teens when I came to live on Fantasy Island, and young enough to be influenced by my guardian—which is what Father was to me for my first few years there. He has a very strong ethical sense, and I acquired that just by being his ward and then his daughter. To me, it would be wrong to…spend a night with Christian as long as you and he are still married." She grinned a little crookedly. "And somehow, even if I defied that sense of ethics and gave in to temptation, I'd never be able to shake the awful feeling that Father would find out."

Marina laughed in her breathy voice. "I understand, Leslie, believe me. I may not agree, but I do see your point of view."

"Marina hasn't let it stop her," Christian noted dryly. "But I won't force you, my Leslie Rose. If you feel it isn't right, then I'll respect that. Besides, I have no particular desire to incur the wrath of my future father-in-law." They all laughed at that.

Marina pushed her plate away and looked back and forth between them. "Still," she said, "there's no reason you two can't be alone. I have some friends in the city whom I mean to visit, and this is the perfect time for that. Don't argue with me, Leslie. I know you are here mainly to see Christian, not so much to tour the country. You'll have little enough time with him as it is, since we are leaving Monday. I only wish it were possible for you two to see some of the sights together. As royalty, Christian and I are easily recognizable, and the media would turn any sight of you together in public into a global catastrophe."

"True," agreed Christian with a heavy sigh. "But I can't say I mind being confined to the hotel. I don't want to be in public with you, Leslie…I'd far rather keep you to myself."

Marina smiled at the look the two shared. "That settles it, then. Please enjoy your evening together, and don't worry if I don't return tonight. I may decide to stay the night with my friends." She got up.

"Thank you for dinner," Leslie said, still a bit discomfited.

Marina shook her head. "Not at all. Enjoy yourselves." She went to the phone, made a quick call to the front desk, then smiled at Christian and Leslie and let herself out.

Christian promptly shoved back his plate as well. "I'm not hungry," he said. "At least, not for food." He eyed Leslie with a look she couldn't possibly misread.

"Christian…" she began.

He put up a hand, stopping her. "Yes, yes, I know…your ethical sense, inherited from Mr. Roarke, won't let you indulge as we both wish. Don't deny it, Leslie Rose, you'd like to give in as much as I wish you would. But as I said, I won't force you any farther than you're willing to go." He rose from the table and made busywork of replacing domed covers on assorted dishes. "Having said that, I should warn you that I'm going to do my utmost to tempt you beyond redemption." He grinned at her.

Leslie, too, got to her feet, slowly and deliberately, smiling faintly at him. "I'd like to see you try," she said.

Christian dropped the last dome atop a dish, came around the table and gathered her into a close embrace. "You're playing with fire, you know," he breathed, dipping his head as he spoke and preventing any riposte on her part with a kiss that stole her breath away. She was barely aware of his gradual maneuvering of himself and her towards the plush sofa where they'd earlier sat chatting with Marina; he pulled her down onto it with him, without ever breaking away from her, and tried to draw her in even closer to him, one hand splayed over her back, the other cradling her head with his fingers entangled in her hair. Without a sound she surrendered, lost in him and in what he was doing to her.

The effect Christian's kisses always had on her gave him an advantage, and he lost no time exploiting it. He moved slowly, testing her with each push of the envelope. She made no protest when his hands tugged her blouse out of her slacks and began to tentatively explore underneath; encouraged by her tacit acceptance, he caressed her skin, reveling in its warmth and softness. For her part, Leslie fell farther under the spell he wove; her resolve was weakening steadily, but her conscience loitered in the back of her brain, watching, waiting for its chance. She had seen him shirtless only once, the day they'd spent an afternoon on the beach, and soon was learning the feel of his skin too.

His mouth finally left hers at just about the time his hand settled directly underneath one breast. "Tell me to stop," he warned in the barest whisper.

She was lost, and her conscience was still quiet. "…what?" she murmured, almost inaudibly. Christian sighed out something in his own tongue and took this as permission, setting off a bonfire somewhere inside Leslie. He dipped his head and nuzzled her neck; automatically she let her head fall back to give him access, her eyes closed, her senses alive and her mind free-falling.

This went on for some time until Christian, aroused nearly beyond his own breaking point, strove for that last step. "Leslie…please?" he moaned.

There was a wealth of meaning in those two words, and her conscience recognized it and jabbed her so sharply she almost felt it as a physical sensation. But she was still far enough under his spell that her deeply-ingrained reaction came as in slow motion. She half-opened her eyes, laid a hand on his arm to still his movements, and whispered, "I can't."

Christian went absolutely motionless for one long, suspended moment. "So," he murmured at last, his voice a little rough with need, "the ethics have finally awakened."

Leslie swallowed thickly, fighting her own need, and said, "I'm so sorry, Christian, my love…" Her voice was heavy with desire and regret, tinged with a trace of resentment for all they were being denied.

Christian chuckled, sounding strained. "You warned me," he said quietly, "more than amply. I won't blame you, my darling. But to tell the truth, I went into this believing you would stop me far sooner than you did."

Leslie's smile was sour. "I thought I would, too," she confessed and released a deep, mournful sigh. "Oh, Christian, you can't imagine how much I wish right now that I had Marina's nonchalant attitude. She knows you wouldn't care if she slept with someone else, and does it without a second thought. And she said in so many words that she doesn't care if you and I do…and it's almost like having permission! And yet I can't, damn it!"

Her frustration made Christian pull back enough to meet her gaze, cradling her face in one hand. "There are other factors to consider," he said and smiled a little. "Apparently your father has more of a presence than even you knew. I've had the feeling this entire time that someone's been watching me."

Leslie laughed. "Well, at least I know I'm not alone." She leaned into him, wrapping him in a tight hug, before releasing him and getting up. "I think it's time I practiced the better part of discretion and went back to my room, now that we know how close we came to the edge."

"Perhaps so," Christian agreed reluctantly, also rising. Gently he held Leslie's head between his hands and kissed her once more. "I'll see you tomorrow. Whether Marina is back or not, I want you to be here for breakfast."

"I will," Leslie agreed and smiled. "Good night, my love."

"I love you, my Leslie Rose," Christian said softly. "Sleep well."

In the elevator Leslie made a face. _I know our time will come, _she thought dismally,_ but for crying out loud, _when_? When is fate going to stop playing with my life and finding a way to take away practically everyone I love in any way?_ She battled back tears, went right to bed once she reached her room and replayed her sweet interlude with Christian till she drifted into a doze.


	5. Chapter 5

§ § § -- September 13, 1997: Fantasy Island

Kieran O'Keefe, Melanie decided, was indeed a rake—but a friendly, charming, cheerful and very attentive one. He'd barely left her side the entire afternoon, treating her to a sumptuous lunch at the hotel restaurant, then escorting her to the casino where they'd played a little blackjack and then tried their luck at the roulette wheel. After that they had spent some time at the pool at Julie MacNabb's B&B where Kieran had somehow managed to wangle a room for the weekend, and there had begun learning quite a bit about each other. She'd heard several anecdotes about Kieran's experiences working with Toni Karlsen and John Angus Walsh on the set of _Highlander Fair_ ten years before, and had told him some stories about consulting her brothers and their friends for assorted ideas that she'd used in her books. Now they were strolling along a path that would eventually take them to the pond restaurant where they planned to have dinner, still talking.

"An' by the way," Kieran was saying, "did ye e'er see a little film called _Turncoat_? 'Twas me first film role. That's how John Angus Walsh came to hear o'me, y'see."

"I don't think I ever saw that one," Melanie said. "What was it about?"

"Ye'd recognize it, me sweet. He had a thing for the Benedict Arnold story and decided that every tale has two sides…so he retold the whole thing from the Brits' side. It turned out rather daft but very funny. Me own role was a bit part, an' I had a total of about fifteen lines throughout, but I'd ne'er enjoyed work so much. That's how I knew I wanted to be in films. Intoxicatin', it is."

"That sounds typical of John Angus Walsh," Melanie said, laughing. "He's the most eclectic and eccentric director in the business, but somehow he makes a roaring success out of almost everything he does. Oof!" This last burst involuntarily from her when she collided with another person on the path.

"Sweet heaven, man, d'ye not watch where ye're goin'?" Kieran demanded. Melanie stepped back and realized to her surprise that she'd run headlong into Julian Noble.

"Well, look what the cat dragged in," she drawled. "Have you connected with every woman on the island yet, or are you still trying?"

Julian narrowed his eyes at her and then at Kieran. "I see it didn't take you long to find a replacement for me," he said.

Melanie tipped her head at him with surprise, then began to grin. "Jealous, are we?"

"Oh, please," Julian grunted. "Matter of fact, I was on my way to meet some folks at the theater."

"You're a little late," Melanie told him, her voice chilling abruptly. "The auditions are over. They've chosen the cast for the main roles, and most of the film crew have already left the island. Pity you didn't show up earlier."

Julian shrugged and smiled carelessly. "Not really my concern, now is it? Well, it's nice to see you've gotten over me. See ya around." He sauntered off down the path.

"Ye know him?" Kieran asked suspiciously.

"Just someone I met on the island yesterday," Melanie said, trying for an offhanded manner, and began to stroll along again.

Kieran shot a glance over his shoulder and grumbled, "Seemed ta me he was more'n a bit familiar wi' ye. An' ye know, it's odd ta be sure, but that bloke coulda been Julian Noble. Me sister always said that's exactly what he woulda looked like. An' what a rake he must be as well, eh? Ye said he's been lookin' to hit on every colleen here."

"Well, he's giving it the old college try," Melanie said breezily. "Don't worry, he's a nobody. And funny you should say he's a rake, since you have a pretty sizable reputation for being a rake yourself."

Kieran's face went ruddy and he gave her a grin that was so sheepish it made her burst out laughing. "Aye, I've been known ta be a rake in me time. Ye shoulda heard Toni Karlsen when I worked wi' her on _Highlander Fair_…ah, that lassie was royally turned off. But I'm thinkin' it's high time I changed me ways." His voice softened and he took her hands in his. "Me darlin' Melanie, I'm after fallin' in love wi' ye, an' a lucky day it was for me when I decided ta come ta Fantasy Island for the auditions. It's many a bloke an' me mum who'll be glad ta see me off the market."

Melanie giggled and lifted onto her toes to kiss his cheek. "You're good for my ego, Kieran O'Keefe, because after Ju…after that other guy rejected me, I was feeling pretty low. You're not the only one whose lucky day it is. I think I'm well on the way to falling in love with you too."

"Then I'll be gettin' a proper kiss from ye, me sweet," Kieran murmured and followed words with actions. All thought of Julian Noble fled from Melanie's mind from then on.

§ § § -- September 14, 1997

The following morning, Kieran O'Keefe and Melanie Downs stepped out of a car arm in arm to say their goodbyes to Roarke, who stood alone near the plane dock. "Well, Mr. Roarke, it's been one heck of a weekend," Melanie said. "And I thank you for putting up with me and with…well, everything."

Roarke smiled, noting Kieran's faintly bemused look. "You're quite welcome, Ms. Downs. So if I may ask, what are your plans, you and Mr. O'Keefe?"

"First of all, we're goin' back to me little place in Hollywood an' flesh out Julian Noble a wee bit more," Kieran said, "an' then I'm thinkin' it's high time Melanie met me mum an' we started makin' some plans." He grinned. "Ta tell ye the truth, Mr. Roarke, I feel a bit as if I got somethin' for free. I got me fantasy lass, an' didn't even have ta pay ye for it."

"Think of it as a bonus," Roarke suggested, and Kieran nodded cheery agreement and shook hands before loping away toward the plane. Melanie hesitated.

"Mr. Roarke…what happened to Julian, anyway? The last time I saw him was when Kieran and I were on our way to dinner and I literally bumped into him on the path. After that…well, who knows where he got off to?"

"I'm sure he simply reverted back to being part of your imagination, just as I told you yesterday," Roarke said. "Rest assured that you need not deal with him any longer, except as your own character on the written page."

Melanie grinned. "That'll be a lot easier to handle than a flesh-and-blood Julian. I'm so grateful, Mr. Roarke. Thanks again." She shook his hand and hurried off to join Kieran.

Several minutes later Roarke, having watched the plane taxi across the lagoon toward the ocean, thanked the natives who helped see the guests off each Monday and started for the car that had pulled up to take him back to the main house. The girls who lined the plane dock streamed along past him, chattering and laughing as always; but the last two, lagging behind, caught his attention with their conversation. "I just don't understand what happened," one complained. "I mean…one minute he was there, the next, he wasn't. It was like he just popped completely out of existence. I had to spend the night alone after all."

"That's a bachelor for you," the other girl proclaimed, as if she were an authority on the subject. "Especially the tall, dark and brooding kind. They'll never settle on just one woman. Believe me, you're much better off without him."

"But it wasn't fair," the first girl said plaintively. "I mean…he looked exactly like Julian Noble, and it was a dream come true."

"And then it wasn't," the second girl said. "Don't forget, this is Fantasy Island. Quit trying to figure out how or why it happened, give up on it, and move on."

"I'll try," the first girl murmured mournfully before they moved out of earshot. Roarke managed to school his expression for the driver, but once he'd settled into the car he laughed and laughed. The driver looked bewildered but, probably drawing on long experience, didn't bother asking.

That afternoon Roarke was back at the plane dock once more to welcome Leslie back from Tokyo. She carried her suitcase and an overnight bag, and greeted Roarke with a long hug that he found a little surprising. "Welcome home, Leslie," he said. "What brings on this, uh…shall I call it 'clinginess'?"

"Giving you a hug hello is being clingy?" Leslie asked, tipping her head at him in confusion and then teasingly quirking her mouth to one side. "I might have to reconsider giving you the present I bought you."

Roarke took her suitcase and escorted her to the station wagon he had driven over. "You have been gone approximately fifty hours in all, Leslie," he said, "and you carry on as though it were several weeks. Something is bothering you, and I want you to tell me what it is. Unless I miss my guess, it's the same something that was bothering you on Saturday morning. It's not like you to hold back."

Leslie made a face. "Can't I just be glad to come home? You know I always thoroughly enjoy returning here from any trip I take."

"Leslie Susan…" Roarke said in warning.

She made another face, this one disgruntled, and settled into the front seat while her father got behind the wheel. "If you're so sure something's bothering me, then I wouldn't put it past you to know what it is, without having to ask me."

Roarke gave her a mildly surprised glance and then chuckled. "You do indeed know me well," he observed, sounding not at all displeased about it. "As a matter of fact, I learned late Saturday afternoon that Prince Christian and Princess Marina, having just spent nearly a week in England for Princess Diana's funeral, had embarked on a vacation trip around Asia, beginning in Tokyo this very weekend. It was then that I realized you must be going there primarily, if not solely, to see him. If you had been taking an actual vacation, you would have spent more time there."

"Myeko and her entertainment-slash-gossip column," Leslie deduced with a weary sigh. "Maybe the only thing I should be surprised at is the fact that it took you till Saturday afternoon to discover it."

"Perhaps so," Roarke concurred through a hearty chuckle. "So you spent time with Christian, then, did you not? Did you actually go and purchase souvenirs?"

"I certainly did," Leslie informed him with exaggerated affrontery that made him grin, "and Marina went with me. Apparently she's intimately familiar with Tokyo and helped me get some real bargains on several very good-quality items. And if Christian and I did spend time together, it was usually with Marina—or otherwise with her blessing."

Roarke cast her a sidewise look. "I see."

Somehow the mere two words made Leslie go on the defensive. "Really, Father, we spent quite a bit of time talking," she insisted. "We all ate dinner in Christian and Marina's suite on Saturday evening, and then when I asked about Marina's father, she told me that he's dying of the same disease she has. Not only that, she said that if her father dies before she does, she'll promptly annul hers and Christian's marriage so he can come here and he and I can get married. There's a man she's in love with, too, and I won't even pretend that she's doing this just for me and Christian. It'll benefit her too."

"Perfectly understandable," Roarke said, bringing the car to a halt in front of the main house. He paused a moment and then turned to face her. "Tell me, child, did you fear my disapproval if I knew the true reason you went to Japan?"

Leslie's eyes went wide and she bit her lip, caught out. "I was sure you'd…well, yes, to put it bluntly, I was. I knew you'd never sanction any violation of Christian and Marina's marriage, no matter how loveless and purely political it is. And you instilled your sense of ethics into me as I was growing up, so my conscience kept us on our best behavior."

Roarke smiled, looking a little contemplative. "Very commendable, Leslie, but there's no shame in going to see the man. After all, you and he are in love, and it was the first opportunity you had had to see each other in more than a year." He focused on her. "If another such chance should arise, there's no need for you to hide behind altruistic motives. Why would I begrudge you a visit with Christian? Just be up-front, Leslie, that's all I ask of you. Do we have a deal?" His smile became a gentle, teasing grin.

She grinned back. "Okay, Father, it's a deal. How about we go in and I give you my present, and show you the kimono Marina helped me buy?"

Roarke released a surprised laugh as he stepped out of the car. "You bought a kimono? Tell me, where on earth would you find occasion to wear it?"

"Oh, you never know," Leslie bantered. "I grant you, it'll probably look pretty silly on me, since I'm not even close to being Japanese, and less than graceful to boot. But someday it might just come in handy. And if nothing else, it'll give Katsumi and Myeko and Camille a good laugh." She joined in Roarke's escalating laughter as they carried her luggage into the house, reflecting all the while that maybe her father didn't mind her having a few secrets from him, just as he had from her. She could only hope that the day would come soon when she no longer needed to keep those secrets.


End file.
